Take Me As I Am
by SpRace Cake
Summary: The moment Prince Spot turns sixteen, he is plunged into a world of intrigue, romance, and magic as he embarks on a quest to find the mysterious Illusionist. However, he ends up getting more than he bargained for... [Slash, AU]


**A Very Nice Prince**

The _calilmal_. Dear gods, after tonight, he'd be an _adult_. Why, soon he'd be hobbling around on a _cane..._

"You're sixteen, today, Prince Spot. My, but aren't you getting old?"

Spot shivered. Sometimes it really seemed like Bumlets could read his mind.

"I suppose I am..." He frowned.

_Sixteen_...

Spot only wished he looked that part. He'd always imagined being more... well... manly by his _calimal._ Instead of being tall, brawny, and deep-voiced, however, he was almost embarrassingly short and wiry instead of muscular. But he made up for his size with fierceness and was more imposing as a warrior than anyone would have expected just by looking at him.

The fact that he didn't fit the ideal, even though he rationally _knew_ that he didn't need to, though, made him feel slightly inferior. He wished that, like his father, he were imposing enough that his mere presence would cause the most hardened of warriors to freeze, but he couldn't do that. Yet.

Spot stared at the mirror before him, trying to school his face into a calm, inscrutable mask. He felt slightly ridiculous, especially with the image of Bumlets fixing his dress cloak behind him. Spot turned, trying to catch the other boy's eyes, but Bumlets did not meet his gaze, as he was busy giving the silver clasp a last inspection, not wanting any detail to be out of place.

"...Bumlets?"

"Yes, sire."

"What was it like when you had your _calilmal_?"

Bumlets didn't pause at all but continued to check on last minute details of Spot's robes. "Well, it was strange, as a _calilmal_ is bound to be. I daresay yours is far more elaborate than most other people's, though if that's a blessing or a curse..." It was only here that the dark-haired boy stopped to scrutinize the prince. "That's for you to decide."

"But did you feel like you had... I don't know... _changed_ afterwards?"

"Sire, everyone feels changed. You don't become a man everyday, after all. Now stop fretting, you'll give yourself a seizure."

Spot felt that Bumlets was laughing at him somehow. "That doesn't answer my question."

"No, it doesn't, but then there is no way to answer the question as you want it to be answered. The _calilmal_ is different for all of us." Bumlets smiled in a wry but gentle manner. "And it is almost over. All that is left is to endure this over-extravagant affair your father has organized. Inviting everyone from three kingdoms!" He shook his head. "He hasn't bothered to spare any expense for you, you know."

"You say that like it's a bad thing."

"Of course not," was the smooth reply. "The ceremony might seem more difficult with all the eyes of _three_ kingdoms upon you, but as long as you say all the lines as we have practiced, you'll be fine. But you really ought to look forward to the feast. It'll be something to remember."

From the way his servant was smiling, Spot was sure that there was something he knew that Spot didn't. It irked him a bit, but he supposed that since he was the guest of honor, it was his job to remain ignorant for as long as possible.

Spot sighed, and nodded. It made him tired even to think of all that.

"Good," Bumlets said. He glanced at his pocket watch. "Then I believe you should be ready to make an actual appearance now. Fashionably late, as is proper."

Spot nodded, and then allowed Bumlets to do one last inspection of his person. "Yes, that will do nicely." Without missing a beat, he wheeled Spot around and led him out of the room. "I'll go have you announced."

With that, Bumlets vanished down the corridor. Spot shook his head. He never could figure out how Bumlets managed everything without losing his composure.

When Spot reached the entrance to the grand ballroom, the herald was just announcing his name. As usual, everything had been perfectly planned. Bumlets scared him sometimes. He had no idea how the older boy could plan things down to the last second and not miss a thing. And it had only been two years since Bumlets had been in the exact same position as Spot.

Well, not the _exact_ position. Bumlets hadn't had the fate of an entire kingdom riding on his shoulders.

He entered the brightly lit hall with a deep breath and a shaky smile. The room was completely silent, which seemed unnatural. Every face was turned towards him, and every eye followed his progress, which unnerved him even more. His palms were clammy with a sudden cold sweat, and he was surprised that he hadn't stumbled on his way down the grand stair. Even as his feet touched the familiar marble floor, Spot felt distinctly uncomfortable. There didn't seem to be enough room, which was a ridiculous notion. But the hall was filled with people from three kingdoms instead of the customary one... Even his family's opulent home wasn't built for those proportions.

As he headed down the red carpet, waves of noblemen and high-born women fell back to let him through. The sight of people moving away because of him felt wrong on some level, yet it was empowering all the same; since he was the center of attention, his mere presence had caused the most powerful people in three kingdoms to give way.

But finally, no one remained between him and the dais. The king and queen of Galon gazed coldly and quietly at him from their respective thrones. Their frigid eyes and posture made Spot nervous, but he reminded himself that this was all part of the ceremony. He sank to one knee, bowing his head, and waited for his father to speak.

"Who approaches?" asked the king, his tone like ice.

"One who stands between the bridges of childhood and adulthood."

"And why do you approach us?" His mother's smooth voice sent shivers down his spine. It was cold yet gentle all at once, and while it wasn't quite as hard as his father's voice had been, it was still distant and unfamiliar to Spot.

"I wish to acquire the key which unlocks the gates so that I may cross and become a man."

The ritualized language felt foreign, but this was the way that things had been done for centuries - the same words, spoken without variation as each member of every generation passed their _calilmal_.

"What proof have you brought us that we should hand you the key?" said his father.

"I have had my last days of leisure. I have put away my things of play, and I am ready to assume my role within the kingdom, to take responsibility for my words and actions, instead of depending on others to do my work for me."

Spot's voice wavered a bit. He had practiced with Bumlets, and this part had been drilled into his head. Still, nothing could have prepared him for the actual ceremony. But he could not afford to fail. He would not be childish. He would not break. He would show that he could stand for himself, even though his eyes watered as his bones creaked and pressed against the edge of the rug. Ice tingled at the nape of his neck, but he continued to wait, sure that he could stand the test. No. He _would_ stand the test. He had to because this didn't just affect him, but an entire country as well. For his people, he must hold and calmly await the official pronouncement on whether or not he had passed this final test of character.

"So you have," his father said, a hint of warmth finally appearing.

Spot tried not to breathe a sigh of relief, for the ceremony hadn't ended yet.

"You now stand before those assembled as a man. You know the responsibilities that you will carry as a man, and eventually, as a king. We welcome you to these new responsibilities. Come forth, and become the man you were born to be."

Spot hesitated only for a second before rising to take a step forward; he convinced himself that it was only because his knee was aching from the wait. He dropped to both knees this time, thankful for the very plush rug he had hated fervently only minutes ago. The queen placed a golden key around his neck, and the king placed the princely crown on his head. He was relieved, but uncertainly so, as if he might be executed at any moment.

"My liege." How strange, to think of his father as an overlord instead of just a father. "I thank you for this honor which you bestow upon me."

"Rise, my son, and partake in that which children may not."

"Yes, my liege." He stood. The queen smiled and winked at him secretly, a flicker of an eyelid.

He smiled and turned, inhaling deeply. It was done.

As he walked forward, the smattering of applause rose and bloomed into a field of cheers. Slowly, with each step, the feeling of trepidation slipped away and left behind it an incredible lightness. Spot was tempted to beam while pumping everyone's hand, even the servants'. That, of course, would never do. He was an adult now, and a nobleman; it was his responsibility to act like one. To his knowledge, no one had ever failed their _calilmal_, or worse, had it revoked before, but Spot would not do anything to jeopardize his new position so soon after he had accepted it. He refused to.

As Spot continued to retreat from the dais so that he could mingle with the guests, his new equals, and in many cases, his subjects, he dutifully acknowledged a few of the higher Houses with a slight nod of the head.

He was regal. Adult. As was proper.

Those gathered - _so many people_ - continued to make way for Spot as he walked through the crowd. He recognized many of the faces, some of which belonged to childhood friends he had not seen for a long time. But now they could be acquainted again, as equals.

"Your highness." Spot turned, too elated to be startled.

"Piker!"

Spot felt delight and dread whirl slowly within him, two conflicting emotions which battled for supremacy. He hadn't seen Piker in years, not since the man had gone through his own _calilmal_. Piker had changed but was still recognizable as Spot's childhood friend. He was taller, leaner, but his hair was still as black and tousled as it had always been. Even as a child, he had never been childish, always careful and never wanton.

Piker smiled, looking slightly pained, but Spot knew that it was an expression Piker always wore, hovering on the edges every time anything else managed to surface. Like now.

"Congratulations."

"Thank you."

There was a long, mildly uncomfortable silence. Spot wondered if he should say something, but he wanted to be careful with his newfound adulthood and so chose – wise, he thought – to keep his mouth shut.

Piker cleared his throat. "The, um... Your father's prepared quite a feast."

"I haven't got any idea what he's done, except that he's invited people from three kingdoms."

"I think he's invited all the princesses, too."

"Has he?" Spot had guessed this already, but Piker was making a sincere effort at striking up dialogue; he didn't want to discourage the man.

"Yes, I... I think he has." Piker fell silent again, as if he knew that his attempt had failed before it had even begun. He shifted uncomfortably. "Look, I..." He paused again. "I just... Congratulations, Spot. Really."

Spot smiled, glad that Piker was still comfortable enough to be familiar, but he could also feel the overwhelming frustration radiating from the man. It had always been hard for Piker to vocalize his thoughts, and watching him try was incredibly painful.

He decided to save Piker the trouble, and simply said, "Thank you again."

Piker gave him that same smile, but Spot knew that it was genuine, and that was enough for both of them.

Still, the silence between them felt incredibly awkward, especially since it seemed that they were an island in a sea of noise. The conversation had raised Spot's spirits, but they dropped again when he realized that there was nothing more to say.

"Your highness!"

"Skittery," Spot said in greeting, bowing his head to acknowledge the bard's presence, and allow him into the conversation. He smiled inwardly to see that Skittery's appearance had rendered Piker even more speechless than usual.

"I would like to offer you my most sincere congratulations, your highness. And I do hope that you will enjoy my performance of the _Legend of Chartreuse_."

"It's an old favorite," Spot told him, although he was lying through his teeth. He'd always found the epic poem rather dry and boring.

"Ah, but you've never heard it performed quite like this," Skittery informed him. "There are entire sections that you are forbidden to hear before your _calilmal_."

Spot raised an eyebrow at this. He'd heard of poems that children were banned to read and hear, but he'd never heard of any censoring. "Really?"

Skittery raised his eyebrows. "Oh, come now... Surely you didn't think that a story with so many holes in it would be considered a classic?"

Now that the bard mentioned it, it was true. One of the reasons Spot had always found the _Legend of Chartreuse_ so boring was that nothing happened. There was no action. Likewise, the character of Snoddy was introduced for no apparent reason other than to mourn his beloved Chartreuse's unexplained death.

Skittery laughed as he watched the knowledge dawn on his prince's face. "It was worse for me, you know... I had to memorize the entire thing over again after my _calilmal_... Absolutely horrifying."

Spot winced in sympathy and took Skittery's amusement over his lack of knowledge in stride. He had honestly never thought about the plot before. There'd been no point, and he'd simply assumed that the legend was one of those "grown up things" which he would grasp once he had gone through his _calilmal_. Evidently, he was right, even if the reason was a bit off.

"Your highness, my Lords Piker and Skittery," Bumlets inclined his head politely, balancing his tray with easy finesse. "May I offer some refreshment?"

"Of course, Bumlets," Spot responded instantly, remembering that he ought to toast his guests. Skittery accepted a tiny glass, murmuring his thanks while slowly turning a remarkable shade of red. It was amusing, to say the least; he'd never imagined Skittery, of all people, to be cowed by good looks. And then there was Piker, who still seemed a bit taken with Skittery. It would be interesting to see how this would all turn out.

"To the Prince," Piker offered bravely, still a bit red himself. Spot grinned and raised his glass to the other two. He drank it all in one gulp, expecting something new and wonderful to assault his senses.

"...Cider, Bumlets? Nothing interesting? What is the point of having a _calilmal_ celebration, if I am still limited to the same drinks that I had as a child?"

Skittery laughed out loud, still very red, and even Piker's lips quirked at the corners. His servant only smiled secretively, taking the empty glasses and disappearing into the milling crowd.

Spot sighed. "Well, I'm very honored by your presence, both of you. I would wish you a good time, but as I haven't got any idea what's been planned, I can't exactly make that guarantee."

The Prince of Bards laughed again, in true good humor this time. "I'm sure it'll be quite entertaining, your highness... Your father would never settle for anything less than the best for his son's _calilmal_."

With a swift nod, Spot bade them adieu and took his leave. It wasn't long before he was set upon by a group of twittering girls, all of whom giggled and curtsied at his presence.

"Your highness," greeted one, curtsying so low that Spot was awarded a clear view down her almost obscenely low cut dress. He pointedly looked over her shoulder, but the subtle smirk on her face was enough proof that the gesture had been deliberate.

"My lady," Spot replied, bowing his head. "I do not believe we've been properly introduced."

"I take it that you do not remember me then, sire. We have not seen each other since even before my _calilmal_. I am Lady Maina of Naratlos. It is an honor to get to wish you well on this day."

She curtsied again, batting eyelashes, and a long, dark plait fell over her shoulder. Spot knew that she was the exact sort of lady his parents wanted him to marry: well-bred, with strong political ties to her name. Still, Spot wasn't impressed by her pretentious obviousness.

"Please rise, my lady," Spot told her with sincerity. He did not relish the notion of being forced to look down her dress, seeing as how her considerable assets fair spilled over the low collar.

"Thank you, your highness," she said coyly. Sweeping an arm back, she indicated the other girls. "These are, of course, my companions."

"Cousin! You did not tell me you had the acquaintance of my lord the Prince," came a smooth voice from behind him. He turned around to see another young woman, this one with a tiara perched amid elaborate, gold curls.

"Apologies, cousin," Maina said in a voice so sweet that Spot could only assume she was trying to mask the venom underneath. "But it would've been a task, seeing as how you were not here to tell."

"Well then, why don't you introduce us now?"

"Of course." With a carefully neutral smile, Maina turned to Spot. "Your highness, may I present my cousin, Cinders of Naratlos?"

"Oh, my dear, you always did like to leave out the most interesting details," Cinders said, smiling imperiously. "I am the _Princess_ Cinders, heir to the throne of Naratlos." She held out an elegant hand for Spot to kiss.

Spot sighed inwardly. He hated court politics, but appearances had to be upheld. So he greeted Cinders courteously, giving her offered hand a swift peck.

A brief flicker of displeasure crossed Maina's face before it dissolved into a properly subservient smile that made Spot uncomfortable. "If it pleases your highness," she began, with a fleeting glare at Cinders, "We, that is, my cousin and I, would like to accompany you and introduce you to some of the _pleasures_ of your newfound adulthood."

One of the ladies-in-waiting let out a nervous trill of laughter. Spot thought hard, trying to figure out some sort of way to escape what he now found to be an exceedingly difficult situation. He knew a hundred ways to lead his armies to victory in battle, and he knew as many ways to handle disputes in court. Yet nothing had ever prepared him for an amorous lady who seemed set on trapping Spot into a marriage he was fairly certain that he did not want, much less for the attentions of two ambitious young women.

Luckily, he was saved by his father, who commanded silence in the room by the simple gesture of rising to his feet. Spot breathed a sigh of relief and attempted to excuse himself, but Maina had latched herself onto his arm and accompanied him up to the dais, careful not to smirk too openly at the princess. Thankfully enough, Cinders had very graciously stepped aside, though not before throwing her kinswoman a look of utter disdain.

Spot couldn't help but wince at the eyebrow his father raised at the sight of Maina. If this kept up, he was sure his mother would arrange a betrothal by the end of the night. It wasn't officially a part of the _calilmal_ that he must be engaged, but the fact that higher nobles were usually betrothed before the night ended had developed into an unofficial custom all the same.

Even so, he couldn't just shove Maina off his arm, as much as he would like to; it would do no good to lose the good will of Naratlos for childish discourtesy on the night of his _calilmal_. So he did his best to put up a brave front, while mentally plotting ways to get rid of her as soon as possible. If necessary, he would flirt with her cousin, but that could prove to be even more dangerous; the court of Naratlos was infamous for its political intrigues, and he had no doubt that Cinders was quite skilled in the game.

The walk to join his parents did not feel quite as long now that he had completed the hard part of the ceremony, although making the walk with Maina did add an air of awkwardness that had not been present before. Spot got the distinct impression from watching the assorted nobles that by bringing Maina up to the dais with him, he had probably made a statement of attachment.

When he – _finally_, he thought – reached the foot of the dais, he nodded to Maina politely, disentangled her arm from his, and went to take his seat beside his parents.

"The ruling House of Naratlos," his mother murmured as he sat on the smaller throne reserved for the heir apparent. "A very political choice, my dear, though a bit... jeopardous."

"I haven't made any choice yet, Mother," Spot said, resigned to the fact that his mother would most definitely fix up some sort of arrangement before the night was over.

"Oh, really, I'm sure she's a lovely young woman. And from a good family, too. Her mother married into the Hyriandean royalty, you know... Forming an alliance with her house may be just the thing needed to put all this uneasiness between our countries to rest. But we'll discuss it later."

The queen patted his hand comfortingly, but the finality in her tone made Spot realized that even though he _technically_ held adult status within their society, his mother would still be set on getting her way.

Spot sat up straight, trying hard to look grave and somber, like what the cheering crowd below would expect of the man who would one day be king. His father raised his glass, and the cheers became a roar of approval.

"My lords and ladies," the king began, "I am glad that you have come to join us on this glorious day, on which my son has completed his _calilmal_ and come into his right as heir to the throne of Galon. As such, I would like to make a toast to the prince and the future king."

As several thousand voices rumbled his name, Spot flushed with pleasure.

_So this is what it's like to be a king_...

When all had drained their glasses, the king continued. "And now, the moment you have all been waiting for... I would like to present tonight's entertainment."

All heads turned towards the main entrance of the ballroom, expecting them to fling open any second. But the only thing they heard was a faint echoing of flute music, and the scent of roses soon assaulted their nostrils.

Then one by one, the lights began to dim until the room was bathed in darkness. Spot blinked, trying to find his bearings, but as hard as he strained his eyes, there was nothing to see by. The silent tension of anticipation was palpable, broken only by the wandering melody of the flute, which had permeated through the air to settle like mist.

After a moment, the darkness lifted enough that Spot could see a cloud of smoke materializing in front of the elaborate double doors. The dull grey cloud rolled across the floor, but as it rose, it paled in shade and grew increasingly brighter. As it coalesced, Spot was forced to turn away, as it had become too hard to look at.

All at once the smoke exploded outwards in a brilliant flash of light. Across the room, there were screams and gasps as everyone was equally blinded.

"Good evening to you all." A pleasant voice rang through the hall, filled with silent laughter and enigmatic promise. "I am Racetrack, the Illusionist. It is a supreme honor to entertain you tonight."

******

* * *

****Author's Notes**

******GA:** FINALLY. After a long, long, _long_ time, fraught with delay and banishments and various other untold perils, we are done.

******TSB**: Yeah, we've only been working on this chapter since umm... May? But now it's DONE.

******GA:** (sniffles proudly) Our baby is finally all grown up! Okay, not really... 'Cause we _only_ have one chapter done, BUT since this was definitely the hardest chapter, the rest should come... not quickly, but easier. I guess. I hope.

******TSB**: Well, if you're ever online... and we did re-write this chapter twice. Which y'all should appreciate. And of course, in the next chapter, we get Racetrack. And I love our Race. Even more than I love Alfred!Bumlets. And that's saying something.

******GA**: Power to the Alfred!Bumlets! Because he is a sexy man. And Race, of course, though that really goes without saying. I mean, me and TSB... How could we _not_ make Race completely and utterly nifty? And I'm sorry about the online thing... I try, but parents are big obstacles.

******TSB**: (pouts) Silly parents, interfering with our writing... but when we do write, we get to write our uber-fantasy novel o' doom, complete with 87 billion Broadway references. Because I likes them, the precious. And you should too.

******GA**: Yes, you should. The power of the Sprace Cake compels you.

******TSB**: And oh, what a good cake it is too. cackles

******GA**: Mm-hmm... Nothin' better in all the world!

******TSB**: Right. So that's it. Because otherwise we'll start getting all incoherent and going on about theohsohistoricalloveofsprace. And that would scare you away. And that would be bad. Hopefully, we'll manage to update sometime before... we both graduate.

******GA**: (laughs nervously) Yeah... Hopefully. But even so, I graduate in a year-and-a-half, so it wouldn't really be all that bad...

ANYWAY. That being it, we shall bid you all a fond adieu and leave you with an invitation to come with us on this wonderful journey. Because it is one. With mucho amounts of lovely, lovely smut.

******TSB**: mmmmmmmmmmsmut (goes incoherent)

******GA**: (gives Blushtrack martini) Because there will be some bit of that, too. (winks)


End file.
